How to be a Death Eater in 5 easy steps
by Maddy Carr
Summary: **COMPLETE** The truth is finally revealed. Draco is a Death Eater, but has he really thrown in his lot with Voldemort? Trust is in short supply, but strange alliances are being formed.
1. Step 1: It's not WHAT you know, it's WHO...

Title: How to be a Death Eater in 5 Easy Steps

Disclaimer: Everything in this story belongs to the really quite talented J.K.Rowling who has the potential to make a success of herself one day if she keeps trying hard.

Theme: Drama/Angst/Humour

Keywords: Draco, Lucius, Death Eaters, Snape, Voldemort

Rating: PG-13 (mainly slightly salty language, a little bit of gore and some pretty sick humour)

Spoilers: All 4 books, to be safe

Summary: Baby powder? Sneering lessons? Incontinence pants? Becoming a Death Eater is a far weirder experience than our favourite Slytherin could ever have imagined. But what is _really_ going on…?

Author's note: Um… well what can I say? I'm a bit warped I'm afraid, but not to worry, there is a bit more of a plot in this than I ever intended when I started (although far less plot that I usually have…) You'll probably notice that ol' Draco is behaving fairly enigmatically (the sexy devil). This is deliberate and judgement should be withheld until Step 5 is posted…

P.S. A few reviews would be nice, but I'll keep on writing, whatever! Enjoy…

Step 1: It's not WHAT you know, it's WHO you know

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"…such is the general ignorance prevailing amongst the populace regarding the practice and promulgation of Dark Arts that potential candidates for apprenticeship into the Noble Tradition must necessarily be sponsored by an adept lest the unprepared, unwary or prejudiced taint the purity of the Dark Magic through incompetence or misunderstanding of its purpose. The practice of sponsoring an apprentice also prevents the admission of half-blooded (and thus less-talented) wizards, and protects the integrity and natural superiority of the pure-blooded families…"

Salazaar Slytherin.

Taken from : _So You Want To Be A Dark Wizard?: An Introductory Text_

The Hogwarts Press, 1678

"Draco!"

"Yeah, I'm coming…"

Draco Malfoy smoothed the front of his black woollen dress robes and twitched the long sleeves so that the shoulder seams lay flat and symmetrical and the cloth draped cleanly down his slender arms. Keeping his eyes on the full-length mirror in front of him, he twisted from side to side, noticing with satisfaction the pleasing swish and ripple of the heavy cloth around the ankle of his black dragon-hide boots

"DRACO!"

Rolling his eyes slightly at his own reflection, the pale-haired Slytherin made a last minute adjustment to his carefully brushed fringe, flicked an almost invisible piece of lint from his cuff and span towards the door of his chamber. Risking his father's wrath, he paused a moment, looked back towards the mirror, and caught the reflection of his robe flaring out dramatically behind him. In the guttering candlelight, he looked unreal - a creature of light and shadow.

__

How appropriate.

A smile formed slowly, transforming the usual blankness of his face into something approaching character.

"DRACO! Come downstairs AT ONCE!"

The smile morphed briefly into a grimace, then his features settled gently back into place.

"Coming Father…."

He quickly left the room and holding onto the banisters of the Great Staircase (which led from the Great Gallery to the Great Hall), half-ran down the long, shallow steps towards the waiting figure of Lucius Malfoy.

Lucius, also resplendent in black, glared at his only son with venom.

"How kind of you to grace us with your presence, boy."

The drawling sarcasm dripped easily from the thin lips, but his heart plainly wasn't in it; Draco knew his father well enough to notice the nervous excitement in his rigid stance and twitching hands. He merely gazed limpidly back at his father and Lucius turned abruptly, his mouth twisting in a genteel sneer.

"Well hurry up then, the portkey activates in 30 seconds. At least I won't know the shame of having kept the Dark Lord waiting…"

Lucius strode across the Great Hall towards the Great Fireplace and plucked a small golden chalice from the chimney piece.

Draco thumped heavily down the few remaining stairs. If anyone had been close enough, or listening carefully enough, they may have heard the muttered words beneath the scuff of dragon-hide on stone,

"The Dark Lord can kiss my ass…"

Lucius glared in exasperation at his son. Draco faltered slightly, brief and quickly suppressed panic flashing across his face. He relaxed at his father's next words,

"…And don't stomp. Death Eaters don't stomp."

"Sorry Father"

He reached out and touched the golden chalice in his father's hand and with a brief 'Pop', the pair vanished.

A flurry of dust skittered across the floor of the Great Hall in a rush of displaced air as if in counterpoint to the fading echo of a half-muttered phrase,

"…and you can kiss my ass too…"

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"Are we there yet?"

Draco tramped miserably behind his father, jiggling his legs with each step in an attempt to shake the mud-matted leaves from his boots. It felt like he had strapped cushions to his feet.

"Don't whine. Death Eaters…"

"…don't whine. Yeah, I know, already."

Draco struggled on, pondering on the insanity of having portkeyed halfway across the country, only to have to stagger half a mile through a god-forsaken forest. He kept talking to distract himself from the rain-sodden ruin of his new robes.

"It's not true anyway. I've heard Wormtail whining, in fact, he's always moaning about something or other"

"Wormtail is scum", uttered Lucius coldly, contempt oozing from every syllable.

"Nice to see such _esprit de corps_ in your happy troupe"

"Shut up, Draco"

"Shutting up"

Twenty more yards of slog and mud.

"Are you prepared, boy?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Don't be impertinent"

"No impertinence. Right. Got it."

"I meant, do you have the necessary… accessories?"

"You mean the…?"

"Yes"

"Yeah, but I don't half feel stupid. It's a good job I'm wearing robes and that's all I'm going to say on the matter."

"I told you why you had to… put them on. As it were."

"I know, I know. Don't blame me if I die of humiliation first."

"I'm more afraid of the humiliation of you _not_ wearing the…"

"OK. I get the picture."

"…no Malfoy has ever disgraced himself in front of his fellow Dark Wizards, and you're not about to be the first."

Draco felt a prickle of half-amused curiosity.

"So, do you always wear…?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Yes"

"I mean, really?"

He knew he was going too far when Lucius wheeled on him, his face tight with anger and chagrin. He looked as though he was winding up for a good shout, but with a glance around the darkening and blustery forest, obviously thought better of it.

"It's necessary. The Dark Lord's moods are…unpredictable", he said finally and fairly mildly, considering.

Draco wisely shut up. His inner voice was slightly less circumspect…

__

But, I mean, really…

Incontinence pants…?

Five more minutes of leaf collecting and Lucius halted abruptly on the overgrown path.

"We're here"

Peering around his father's rigid shoulder, Draco made out a clearing slightly ahead and the glow of what looked like smoking torches; he could hear the faint sizzle of rain hitting flame. He cleared his throat nervously and fought the impulse to run

__

Your last chance to get out…

"Shut up" he muttered, blocking out the mental voice that had become more persistent over the last few months. He was beginning to think that even his subconscious was against him. Either that, or it was a double-agent and was actually working _for_ him by attempting to drive him bonkers. Madness after all was probably preferable to what he was about to do.

__

Paranoid, much?

"Aaargh!"

His groan of exasperation was quickly swallowed when a small, hunched shadow detached itself from the gloom surrounding the clearing and made its way steadily towards them. Even if the squatness of the figure hadn't told the Malfoys the identity of the man, the sickly silvery-greenish glow emanating from his arm would have given it away.

"Wormtail", hissed Lucius quietly.

__

The amazing bionic rat-man, added Draco's subconscious (which may, or may not have been working against him).

Peter Pettigrew's arm lifted in a strange gesture which may have been a greeting (unlikely), may have been a warning (possible), but was most likely a threat (Oh, my, yes). The powerful uber-hand, a 'gift' from the Dark Lord himself, was not a little bit intimidating. Whatever his motivation, the magical glow from the false limb threw eerie shadows over the mean and shrewish features of Voldemort's lieutenant.

_Hmm, theatrical but effective_

"Lucius and Draco", whined Pettigrew, "Welcome to our little…gathering. The Dark Lord himself awaits you."

Surprised to find his heart beating loudly, whether in excitement or fear or a combination of both, Draco silently fell into step behind his father.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Who presents the Apprentice?"

Lucius stepped forward, holding his head proudly and speaking confidently.

"I do, My Lord"

"Is he of pure-blood?"

"He is"

"What proof of this?"

"By proof of his lineage"

"Recite the lineage"

"By birth, Malfoy. By distaff, Crowley and Sinistra. By the second-generation of Van der Valk and…"

"Enough"

Voldemort, having halted the ritual, continued to gaze imperiously at the senior Death Eater until Lucius managed to meet his eye. But not for long. Draco noticed a subtle shudder run through his father's tall form just before his head dropped. Voldemort smiled and there were no circumstances in this or any other dimension in which it could have been described as a 'nice' smile.

"I am satisfied", he drawled in his oddly high-pitched voice. "You may thank me."

Lucius dropped instantly to his knees and crawled forward until he could reach the hem of Voldemort's robes. He kissed them. Draco fought the rise of nausea in his throat.

__

You're next, Bucko

"Draco Malfoy, come forward"

Draco wrestled his fear down past the blockage in his throat and squeezed it deep, deep inside himself. Resolutely, he strode forward, careful to appear arrogant and subservient all at once. Not an easy combination. Good job Wormtail was there to show how it was done.

Voldemort stood on his stone dais, his flat serpentine nostrils flaring gently with every breath. His midnight black robes were highlighted along the seams and on the lining with a strange colour - a sort of dirty, angry orange which made Draco's skin itch just to look at. The shade clashed horribly with the redness of his eyes and succeeded in making them redder, like a particularly nasty case of eczema. If it was by design, it was magnificently effective.

"You have attained your eighteenth year and your blood-line has been proved clean. For what reason do you seek the service of the Dark Lord?"

Draco relaxed slightly into the familiar patterns of the ritual. He was strangely glad that his father had prepared him so well.

"By reason of Knowledge, of Power and of Purity"

"What Knowledge do you seek?"

"The Dark Arts. Reviled by the ignorant, feared by the wise and practised by the few."

"What is the Power you seek?"

Draco knew enough to answer _that_ question carefully,

"Whatever power my Lord deigns to give me" . He bowed his head respectfully.

The Dark Lord sneered. The expression did nothing to improve his appearance.

"You answer easily, boy. Do you think to impress me with this show of confidence? How deep does your commitment go? Why should I desire the service of a petty, mewling whelp?"

His mouth dry, Draco swallowed with difficulty, the fear more difficult to suppress with this break from the formal pattern he had expected.

"I…I will not always be young, Lord."

Voldemort stepped closer. Tension prickled in the air like the prelude to a thunderstorm. Draco could feel a bead of cold sweat ooze down his back.

"And you think this gives you some…value to me?"

Draco closed his eyes briefly and sought for a convincing enough answer. Deep inside, he found a kernel of truth; a truth that had sustained him for many years. When in doubt, try sincerity.

"I have always desired to serve you. You are the only one I would call Master".

Voldemort leaned in closer. Draco leaned backwards. 

"You are arrogant"

_Ah_

That was easy enough to answer…

"Naturally. I am a Malfoy." 

He forced his spine back to ninety degrees and slowly met the impenetrable eyes of the one he sought to serve. A quick intake of breath behind him may have been Lucius. It was a gamble that Draco had no qualms about, however.

Voldemort appeared pleased.

"Hmm. So you are self-serving also, no doubt."

"Of course".

Voldemort turned abruptly and returned to his stone throne.

"Very well. I accept your service."

Draco wasn't sure whether to be elated at his admission or perturbed by its unexpected ease.

"But…"

_Oh Gods_

"Do you know why I don't use Veritaserum, Draco?"

_Oh buggery hell_

He sincerely hoped the question was rhetorical as he was currently out of pat answers.

"…because I prefer men to serve me through fear. Everyone has their grubby little secrets and I doubt not that you have yours. Men are motivated by fear - and what they fear is being FOUND OUT"

The dark and cynical sneer returned to the half-human face of the Dark Lord. He stalked forward again. Draco found himself shuffling backwards on pure instinct.

"Do you fear me, Draco Malfoy?"

"…er"

Fear was pouring off him in waves. He knew what was coming, he could practically smell the anticipation.

"What did you say? I didn't hear you", quietly and insidiously.

There was only one answer.

"Yes"

Voldemort nodded.

"Good. You should"

Fast as a striking snake, Voldemort's hand whipped down inside his robe and Draco found himself staring down the business end of a wand. The silence was absolute.

"CRUCIO!"

…no time to draw breath…no breath to scream…the pain, oh gods the pain…like razor blades in his veins…a thousand ice-picks through his skin, drilling through his eyeballs, through every nerve ending and synapse of his brain…stop, please stop…I didn't mean…OH GOD…

As quickly as it had begun, it was over. It may as well have been a month. Draco found himself on his knees with no recollection of having staggered. With an unsteady hand, he swiped with disgust at the drool hanging off his chin. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his father's face. Stone-like, impassive, but with a glint in the eye which suggested a deep sadistic pleasure.

_I think I'm going to vomit_

"A small object lesson" said Voldemort, almost dispassionately. "I hope you learned it well?"

"..ggnnhh" 

"Really? Oh well. CRUCIO!"

"NOOOOOOO!"

The scream ripped from his throat unbidden like a wild beast. His already sensitive nerves shredded from within, his head hitting the forest floor, his legs spasming uncontrollably. He was to be spared no indignity it seemed. With a dreadful, sickening shame, almost worse than the pain, he felt the muscles of his bladder override his control.

__

Oh. Now I understand…

He had no idea how long it lasted. He wasn't even sure if he could have remembered his own name when it was over. He concentrated on sucking breath into his aching lungs. Even his hair hurt.

_I'm alive I'm alive I'm alive_

Rolling his eyes in default of actually moving any of the rest of his body, Draco could find it in himself to be surprised when he met the eyes of Severus Snape. The dark enigmatic depths of the Potion Master's gaze told him nothing. What he thought at that moment of his erstwhile pupil was a question Draco would ponder over for a considerable time in the days ahead.

But first…

He blessedly passed out.

To be continued…

Coming soon: Step 2: You Are What You Wear


	2. Step 2: You are what you wear, so dress...

Title: How to be a Death Eater in 5 Easy Steps

Disclaimer: Everything in this story belongs to the really very talented J.K.Rowling who I am extremely jealous of in many, many ways.

Theme: Drama

Keywords: Draco, Lucius, Death Eaters, Snape, Voldemort

Rating: PG-13 (mainly slightly salty language, a little bit of gore and some pretty sick humour)

Spoilers: All 4 books, to be safe

Summary: Step 2 (the one with the baby powder). Becoming a Death Eater is a far weirder experience than our favourite Slytherin could ever have imagined. Just what _do_ you wear under those robes?

Author's note: Although I attempt to be humorous now and then, I decided to remove the 'Humour' theme and leave it at 'Drama' – mainly because the tale is moving in a direction I hadn't anticipated. Draco obviously has his own ideas about what he wants to be doing – who knew the boy had such depths!

Harry is usually my favourite character, but this story was one of those that leapt fully fledged into my brain and demanded to be written. Sorry.

Oh, and for all those other Harry fans out there, he does crop up in Step 5, so keep reading!

P.S. A few reviews (any reviews) would be nice, but I'll keep on writing, whatever. Enjoy…

Step 2: You Are What You Wear (so dress appropriately)

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If one were to listen carefully to the gossip that often flew around the Gryffindor Common Room, one might gain the impression that Draco Malfoy was vain.

Quite the contrary.

Vanity pre-supposes self-respect. Draco…

Well, let's just say that he…frankly…didn't like himself very much.

He knew that deep, deep inside, in the very depths of him, he had a mean, selfish, self-interested, cruel and extremely nasty little soul. He didn't let it bother him overmuch. In fact, he often congratulated himself on having no illusions whatsoever about what he was _really_ like.

Illusion…

That was the crux of the matter. That was why, indeed, he paid very careful attention to what he wore and what he looked like. It was not vanity, it was…necessity. After all, he had a reputation to maintain – who was he to destroy everybody's comfortable preconceptions about him? People saw what they wanted to see and rarely looked any deeper than that.

Very few people in his life had ever _wanted_ to look deeper.

Very, very few people indeed had ever succeeded.

To be precise – only one.

And it was the very last person you could have imagined…

…but he wasn't going to think about it now. Not when he was being confronted in his own bed-chamber by a known Death Eater. A Death Eater, moreover, who was clad only in black silk underwear and brandishing a bottle of Baby Powder in front of his face.

Life was very strange.

"Um…Avery?"

"Yes?"

"Why exactly do you have Baby Powder?"

"Huh?"

Draco rolled his eyes in exasperation. He wasn't quite sure what he had expected from Voldemort's chosen followers, but he had anticipated a _certain_ level of intelligence. His father for example - Lucius was a man of many parts and intelligence was definitely one of them. Avery didn't so much have parts as…well…pieces. Little blobs of knowledge floating around in the cavern of his brain seemingly unconnected to anything else. It wasn't that he didn't know anything, he just couldn't apply it and if there was a scale for such things, Draco would be forced to place the currently-semi-naked man somewhere between Peter Pettigrew and Goyle Senior.

Frankly, it didn't augur well for the future of Dark Magic.

Life was a constant disappointment.

"The Baby Powder, Avery. The sweetly scented substance used on the posterior of infants. The substance, to wit, you are holding."

"What, this?"

Draco reluctantly lifted his head from its prone position on the bed and glared at the little pink and white bottle.

"Indeed."

Avery smiled, in what he probably imagined was a rather cunning way.

"This", he stated with emphasis, "is my little secret. The secret to a comfortable life." He winked, as though this explained everything.

"Is this the same 'little secret' as the black silk underwear, (which I have seen far too much of for my own sanity), or another one? Are they both part of a larger whole, perhaps? The Specific and General Theories of Relative Comfort?"

Avery looked momentarily confused, but decided that Draco, the youngest Death Eater on the block, could not possibly be exercising sarcasm at the expense of his chosen instructor. Such behaviour towards another Death Eater, was, frankly, suicidal. He therefore completely and conveniently erased Draco's words from his mind. Thus much did Draco see as he watched the procession of thoughts cross his colleague's face.

_Do you have any idea how much I despise you, Avery?_

"It's good stuff!" retorted his unclad companion.

Draco sighed deeply and absently rubbed his sore arm.

"What do you use it for?" he asked in the blandest most uninterested monotone he could possible manage.

"Chafing!" came the enthusiastic reply.

Draco allowed incredulity to filter into his eyes.

"I'm sorry, I think the Cruciatus Curse has affected my eardrums. I thought you said 'chafing'".

Avery rolled his eyes, as though Draco was the stupid one in the room.

"The mask, dear boy, the mask!" he said, waving one of his own Death Eater specials in his hand.

_Oh Salazaar, save me_

Since his face was now safely hidden behind his hands, Draco allowed a grimace to surface. If he didn't already suspect his own sanity, he would be convinced that the whole universe had gone ga-ga. A few clouds short of a nebula, if you will. But then again, perhaps it was the after effects of the Cruciatus curse which he could feel even several hours after his initiation, not helped by the fact that his own father had refused to supply him with the standard Dark Lord post-curse potion on the grounds that his pain was 'character building'.

_If that's the case, I've got more character than Dumbledore in a Hall of Mirrors armed with a Doppelganger charm._

Not to mention, of course the fact that his new robes were in ruins, he'd exuded so much drool that he'd be dry-mouthed for a week and he'd had to clean up…well he wasn't going to think about _that_ anytime soon. Oh, and of course, the shiny new Dark Mark currently decorating his right arm.

The ultimate accessory.

Strangely enough, the 'branding' hadn't hurt as much as he had expected, although the fact that he was still dazed and dribbling from the third Cruciatus in a row probably had something to do with it. What he hadn't expected was how aware he was of the Mark. How it itched and writhed on his arm. How it tingled as though his bloodstream was full of ground glass. How he wanted to lose control and rip and tear at it with his own teeth.

_You wanted this_ he tried to tell himself. _Suck it up, Malfoy_

And of course to top it all off, the real icing on the cake, was the fact that Avery had been chosen to instruct the new recruit in the esoterica of Death Eater life. Of which, in the first hour, had consisted of a fashion parade of the best (and most comfortable) underclothes to wear under the Death Eater robes and had now become a demonstration of patting Baby Powder on one's face to prevent the Terrible Mask of Doom from chafing. 

_Is it my imagination, or are Death Eaters insufferably camp?_

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That was more like it.

In front of the mirror again and now fully robed in Evil Wizard regalia, Draco was forced to admit that the ensemble had a certain ominous _je ne sais quoi_. The comfortable underwear, the heavy, draping material of the robes, the madly-flaring sleeves, the death-like hood, the scare-the-living-daylights-out-of-you mask (he had eschewed the Baby Powder on the grounds of self-respect) all added up to a whole that you really wouldn't want to meet on a dark night. Or at any time.

With that realisation came another sensation that had been mysteriously lacking from the whole experience so far: A sense of power.

He felt ten-feet tall.

He felt that _Avada Kedavra_ may not be quite as difficult to perform as he had feared.

He even felt the tiniest, tiniest bit sorry for Harry Potter.

He grinned. The effect was terrifying.

But…

Draco Malfoy was not unintelligent - in fact he had an impressive mind when he chose to use it. He knew the truth. He knew far more deeply and completely than anyone would suspect (including his father), that the sense of power was illusory. The power came from the façade.

It was a well-contrived, extremely well-marketed and deeply unsettling façade. But a façade nonetheless.

_Appearances are everything_

What he also knew, (and he suspected that one of the few others who knew this was Severus Snape), was that the trick in being truly intimidating was to project the façade without the props. Or to put it another way, he had to be a Death Eater even when he wasn't dressed like one.

It was very, very important.

Especially as the summer term at Hogwarts School started in 2 days time.

His final term - and, perhaps, the final showdown?

To be continued…

Coming Soon: Step 3: Walking the Walk and Talking the Talk


	3. Step 3: Walking the walk and talking the...

How to be a Death Eater in 5 easy steps

Disclaimers 'n' stuff are all in the previous chapters.

(…but Frazer, Dross and Skeet are MINE)

Yikes! It started off as a bit of a laugh, but the story's getting more angsty than I had anticipated. The more I write Draco (my version of him at any rate), the more the boy seems to unfurl his petals (bless). At any rate, I apologise for the rather uneven tone.

Huge thanks to **Charmed Vampyre**for her review. So I've got you fooled then have I? [insert evil cackle]. Be assured, nothing is quite what it seems at the moment…

Severus Snape alert! Our favourite tortured Potions Master makes a guest appearance in this episode

Step 3: Walking the Walk and Talking the Talk

__

"On the stage he was natural, simple, affecting'

'Twas only that when he was off he was acting"

Oliver Goldsmith

__

"What is acting but lying and what is good acting but convincing lying?"

Laurence Olivier

Draco watched as his owl took off from the balcony and glided skywards, her wings eerily silent, her pale feathers catching the last yellow gleams of the evening sun. His hand in the pockets of his Muggle trousers, he stared at her shrinking form, even after it disappeared from view altogether. She carried a letter. It was a very short letter consisting of a single phrase. It read:

__

"It's done"

The sun was setting rapidly now and Draco could feel the early-April chill seeping up from the stones of Malfoy Manor. Seeping up through his bones. Perhaps it was the fading light, or perhaps the slowly dying bird-song, but he felt strangely oppressed, even nervous. He sighed and ran a hand down his face as though he could rub the depression off his skin. He may as well have been trying to scrub the Dark Mark off with a nail brush for all the good it did him.

_It's done_, he reiterated in his thoughts. _I'm committed now and come what may…_

He wondered briefly what his mother would have made of all this, but he never allowed himself to think about her for very long. Only when it mattered.

_I wonder what would have happened if she was still here. Perhaps I'd never…_

He cut himself off abruptly and sighed. What ifs were of no earthly use to him. She was dead after all.

She'd been dead for many months.

He turned back to the candlelit bedroom and hesitating only momentarily, stooped to pick a robe of heavy cloth and a strangely shaped mask that were lying haphazardly on the low, long bed. With quick, decisive movements, they were slung over his shoulder. There was a flash of wood, a softly muttered charm and the candles extinguished themselves with a suddenness that seemed to intensify the echoing silence of the Manor. The room was plunged into darkness.

Draco Malfoy left the house

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"He's going to have to tone down that smirk", said one voice in the gloom.

"I like the smirk", responded another, deeper voice, "it looks like he's enjoying being intimidating"

"He's not supposed to _enjoy_ it", was the reply, "He's supposed to _relish_ it. There is a difference, you know"

"I doubt that a Mudblood in the last throes of agony is going to appreciate the subtle nuances of his expression, Dross"

"Are you being sarcastic?"

"Moi?"

Draco ground his teeth together and tried to block out the incessant commentary as he fired off a particularly nasty _Pustulae_ curse. He'd arrived a little early for a meeting with his father to find that Lucius was with Voldemort and the rest of the 'Inner Circle' and probably wouldn't be back for a while. His fellow Death Eaters had decided that Draco needed an impromptu lesson to brush up his cursing - which was fine by him, but he hadn't expected the heckling from the audience.

He wouldn't have minded, but they seemed more concerned that he _look_ good than if he actually did any damage with his wand. _And_ no-one had even mentioned the Unforgivables, which made him wonder if they were the preserve of more senior members.

_I should find out_

He sighed and raised his wand to try again. The curse was supposed to give someone the Pox, but it was hard to tell if it was working since he was currently practising on trees.

"_Pustulae!_"

"No, no, no. More venom! You're not going to scare anyone like that".

Smothering a grimace, he turned enquiring eyes towards the robed figure to his right, who had been observing his actions in silence for a while. He'd been introduced to the man only half an hour ago, and already hated him. He was short, slight and pretty damned venomous himself; and he delighted in the name of Waldorf Skeet. He'd attempted to be civil to him however because, frankly, there were only so many enemies a boy could cope with all at once.

"Did I say it wrong?"

Skeet's pale, bulbous eyes opened wider in surprise.

"The curse? No, no, dear boy, not at all. Quite perfect I should say. Frazer?"

"Adequate execution", rumbled the large man, who had been talking to Dross.

"See? The curse was fine… I meant your stance!"

"My what?"

"Your stance. Your approach. Your _presentation._" Skeet threw his arms out dramatically to emphasise his point.

"My…presentation?". There was an incredulity in his tone that he couldn't disguise.

"Skeet's right," said Frazer, strolling towards them. "You look like a wuss, Malfoy."

_A WUSS?_ _Are they Death Eaters, or Hufflepuffs?_

Draco couldn't think of a thing to say that wouldn't instantly result in a lip-locker curse. This was worse than school.

Skeet frowned, considering. "I don't think I'd quite go _that_ far, Old Chap. But…well, why don't you show him?"

Frazer shrugged. "If you want, but Dross can do it better than me."

"Ooh, yes. Dross, you show the lad how it's done. Come on, you're really good at this!"

Skeet gestured eagerly at the hulking figure of Grubious Dross, who shuffled forward almost bashfully

"I'm not _that_ good" he muttered, embarrassed.

"Yes you are! Go on. Do the _Detonatus!_"

"Yeah, that's a good one."

Draco watched with surreal disbelief as Dross took a deep breath, settled his shoulders and pasted the most alarming sneer on his face. It looked positively painful. Then the heavily-robed man started forward into a stiff-legged, ground-eating walk which looked curiously unstoppable (not to mention intimidating) and began to draw his wand with ominous deliberation. His wand arm moving upwards to eye height, pointing forward, the walk never slowing, he opened his twisted mouth and snarled,

"_DETONATUS!_"

A nearby sapling exploded impressively.

Brushing the bark from his hood absently, Skeet turned towards Draco, his other arm gesturing wildly towards Dross.

"Like that!"

Draco had imagined many things about being a Death Eater. The pain, the cursing, the Dark secrets, mayhem, revenge, but for some reason, he'd never imagined he'd be having…sneering lessons.

"This is a farce," he muttered quietly.

_Good_ his subconscious added a moment later.

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"No! Stop! Start again!"

Frazer, Dross and Skeet had begun to get into the spirit of the proceedings with alarming enthusiasm. Draco had been trailing backwards and forwards with his wand arm raised for almost twenty minutes while the Comedy Relief trio had shouted encouragement and criticism as the mood took them.

"What now?" he asked, weariness evident in his tone.

Frazer shook his head, disapprovingly. "Rubbish," he said, baldly.

"I'd have to agree," said Skeet. "You're supposed to be _stalking_ not _walking._"

"And the difference is…?"

Skeet sighed melodramatically.

"A stalk is supposed to be ominous. It's _inexorable_. You just look…stiff."

"Like an ostrich," added Frazer, helpfully.

"And your sneer needs work. It still looks like a smirk." said Dross, not one to let go of an idea.

"I _am_ sneering," retorted Draco, his temper fraying slightly at the edges.

Skeet looked at him almost pityingly. "You're really not," he said. "A good sneer should frighten people, not make them feel slightly uncomfortable. What's the secret of a good sneer, Frazer?"

"Hatred," was the prompt answer.

"Correct. So, what do you do to get a good sneer…?"

"Think of something I hate?" drawled Draco facetiously.

"Right! Or even better, some_body_ you hate. That always works for me."

"Me too," piped up Dross.

Draco sighed resignedly and unholstered his wand yet again. Getting into the spirit of things, just so that he could get this over with already, he dutifully fixed a sneer on his face and thought about someone he really loathed. It wasn't all that hard.

"Not bad," admitted Frazer. "Try hissing your enemy's name under your breath before you start, it gives the sneer more impact."

That piece of advice gave Draco a little pause. He didn't want the threesome to hear the name he had been thinking of, so he hastily readjusted his thoughts, assumed the position and hissed,

"_Potter_!"

…then sneered.

The three startled intakes of breath and the strangled "No!" from Skeet removed the expression speedily from his face.

"WHAT?" he barked, exasperated beyond all measure.

Dross, looking slightly pale and almost frightened muttered, "You can't use _Potter's_ name."

"What? Why not?" Draco's voice came out slightly squeaky, much to his chagrin. It was the surprise, he supposed. There he had been congratulating himself on being clever, and now he was being glared at by three Death Eaters.

Skeet sidled forward, glanced around him and said in a low voice,

"The Dark Lord can't bear to hear his name spoken. It's just a little…foible of his."

"Hatred of all things Potter is the exclusive preserve of Voldemort," added Frazer. "If we so much as mention him, the Dark Lord gets a little…angry."

"He loathes him so much, it's almost as though he's jealous of anyone else loathing him too," rejoined Skeet, "especially after that business last year. With the Dementors and Potter's animagus form."

"You mean the…?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

_How very, very, interesting…_

Draco was still pondering the interesting-ness of that little piece of information five minutes later when Lucius, Snape, McNair and Avery joined them.

Lucius had come to tell Draco what would be expected of him in his new role.

It didn't come as a surprise.

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The second non-surprise of the evening came in the form of Severus Snape. 

Despite his best efforts, Draco hadn't been able to avoid the man for long, and hadn't really expected to. He just wasn't sure if he was ready for this conversation yet.

The man had followed him on the walk back to the Portkey and resigning himself to the inevitable, Draco had obligingly stepped away from the path to stand concealed in the gloomy shadow of a Yew tree. He stood leaned against the trunk and listened to the harsh breathing of the professor and the muted rustle of his robes.

"You'll be spying on Potter and his friends."

It wasn't a question.

"Yes," he replied, without prevarication.

A quick intake of breath.

"Don't expect me to help you."

Draco's eyes widened and he reeled a little with shock, until Snape's next words sent relief running through his limbs.

"I have to concentrate on Dumbledore. I can't afford the distraction of watching anyone else too. You'll have to manage on your own."

"So. I'll do my job and you'll do yours?"

"Yes."

There was silence, but neither moved. Draco closed his eyes and waited.

"Why did you do it?" The words were said haltingly, almost reluctantly.

"Why not?" Draco's reply was smooth, unconcerned. "It was always intended…"

"Yes, yes, I know what _Lucius_ intended," spat Snape. "It still doesn't mean you had to go and get the Dark Mark yourself."

Draco wondered if Snape really knew how dangerous his words were, how close they were to disloyalty to Voldemort, to treason. He suspected that Snape _did_ know - but he'd said them anyway. Draco found himself suddenly and unaccountably touched.

But he remained silent. 

Snape tried again. Draco had to commend him on his bravery, but wanted to shake him for his stupidity.

"I was surprised to see you the other day. I'd thought…after what happened to Narcissa…"

Draco sucked in his breath.

"You know about that?"

_And would you like to explain exactly HOW you know about it, Professor?_

A pregnant silence.

"Yes."

_Keep it short. Don't explain. Very good_

"You mean, I suppose, why would I do this when I had a Mudblood for a mother?" 

The question came out of Draco's mouth more harshly and bitterly than he had intended. Snape merely stood beside him and didn't respond. Draco supposed that there would be no answer to his question that made any kind of sense, so the Potion's Master had decided not to press the issue. Instead, he asked,

"I suppose Lucius…took care of it?"

"Oh, he took care of it, all right."

The last, faintest gleams of light filtering through the canopy above them revealed a thoughtful look in Snape's eyes as they rested on his student's face.

Suddenly, Draco couldn't take it anymore. With an abruptness that had Snape stepping backwards, startled, Draco launched himself upright again and backed towards the path.

_What a tangled web we weave…_

"I'll see you tomorrow, Professor," he said. "At Hogwarts."

He turned and strode away without looking back. Thinking about it, he supposed that Snape thought him an ignorant, stupid boy. He certainly hadn't done or said anything that would disabuse him of that notion.

Draco was not entirely ignorant, though. He possessed a very interesting piece of information. A _vital_ piece of information:

He knew that Snape was a spy.

And if Snape only knew that Draco knew, he'd be a very, very nervous man right now.

_But don't worry, Professor. You're safe for now. I have my own game to play…_

To be continued…

Coming Soon: Step 4: Mastering those tricky curses.


	4. Step 4: Mastering those tricky curses

How to be a Death Eater in 5 easy steps

Disclaimer is in the first part.

A/N: Nearly there! This is the penultimate part and the hints have started dropping thick and fast. Can anyone guess what Draco is up to before I post the last part? I've deliberately left everything very enigmatic 'cos I don't want to give away the ending too soon.

This part also features a very brief appearance by the lovely Harry Potter (blink and you'll miss him)

Thanks to:

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Melon: Please do. Glad you think it's funny

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Mandyb: Thanks. Depends what you mean by 'evil-boy;'? (hint, hint)

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NYB: Cheers mate ;o)

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Queen Becca: I write for myself, so lack of reviews ain't gonna stop me. I wouldn't mind a few more though… Oooh, glad it makes you itchy – I felt all squirmy just writing it! Hope you continue to read on…

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Bennett: Of course Draco is evil! Of course, of course… or not.

Step 4: Mastering those tricky curses

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Duelling is an art, and a beautiful one when performed properly. To duel competitively, one must be athletic, quick-witted, and agile in mind and body. It demands skill, it demands concentration, it demands the ability to bluff and counter-bluff. Over the centuries, a great number of rules and codes of behaviour have built up around the practice. They exist for a reason: duelling is dangerous enough in competition – done in earnest, it can be fatal.

Be safe and follow these simple rules:

Duelling should always be the last resort.

Treat your opponent with respect.

Disarmament is always better than dismemberment.

Never, ever turn your back.

Introduction to _The Noble Art of Duelling_

Gregorus Solinsky

Auror and Order of Merlin (2nd class)

Draco pushed his half-empty plate away from him and leaned back in his chair, one arm resting on the laden table, the other along his out-stretched leg. From a distance, he probably looked relaxed, but his apparently lazy eyes were surveying the noisy hub-bub of the start-of-term Hogwarts feast with more than their usual care.

So far, he had noticed two things.

Harry Potter had not once looked in his direction and Severus Snape's seat at the Teachers' table was empty.

He was not particularly concerned by Snape's absence. Lucius had disappeared himself during the middle of the night, only a couple of hours after returning to Malfoy Mansion. His hurried one-word message of 'Voldemort' in parting was enough to explain his failure to return to the house before Draco flooed off to King's Cross Station the next morning. If Lucius was with Voldemort, then Snape probably was too. Certainly, Dumbledore's bland announcement that Professor Snape was 'absent on business' was enough to confirm this in Draco's mind. What it all added up to was that something was brewing in the Dark Lord's camp but he had no idea what it was, or what it would mean.

This annoyed him considerably.

As for Potter… if Draco had an explanation for the other boy's studious avoidance of eye contact, he was keeping it to himself.

"'Ere, Draco, look at this!"

Draco grimaced, not bothering to hide the expression for once, and turned to the owner of the grating voice, who was sitting beside him. The bulky, greasy-haired boy, was making 'pretending-to-swoon' motions with his hands and eyes. Across the table, his companion sniggered, highly amused.

Crabbe and Goyle. The world's only living justification for the Killing Curse. If it hadn't been so absolutely necessary to keep them around, Draco would have gladly ground them into dust and used them as fertilizer years ago.

"What are you doing Goyle, you contemptible piece of crap?" drawled Draco on a monotone as it really didn't do to encourage him. Not that either of them ever noticed of course…

It was Crabbe who responded as Goyle had difficulty talking and moving his arms at the same time.

"He's doing an impression of Potter."

Draco took this in with creditable patience.

"I do you realise you're very slow, Crabbe," he replied, "but didn't we do the 'Potter-is-swooning' thing four years ago?"

"Huh?"

"Never mind."

Goyle put his arms down and the blood was therefore free to rush to his brain. He said slowly, "That's what Potter'll do when he finds out you've got the Dark…_mmph_!"

Draco carefully lowered his swiftly drawn wand. The lip-locker curse had been the first one he'd thought of and much as he would have liked to hurt Goyle right then, it was probably a wiser choice than a curse aimed to hurt, or maim, or draw blood. _Damn_.

"I sincerely hope you weren't about to say what I think you were going to say Goyle, otherwise I would have to kill you. Very slowly and painfully."

Draco noted with satisfaction that Goyle's pasty face had paled at the threat. He really was an unspeakable moron. Draco knew very well that half the school, especially the Gryffindor contingent, suspected him to be a Death Eater as it was, but it was one thing to suspect (which had the side-benefit of enhancing his dark reputation) and another thing to have it proved outright. Mere rumour gave him the dubious protection of fear. 

After tonight, the point would be moot, but he had still had a few moves of the game to play.

Crabbe, who had slunk down into his seat in an attempt to hide his lumpy body, muttered defensively, "I told him not to say anything."

"Well, he's not saying much _now_, is he?"

Draco allowed himself a moment to enjoy the sight of a silent, chagrined Goyle, then sighing, he waved his wand again and muttered, "_Finite Incantatum_".

"Sorry, Draco," muttered Goyle when he could speak.

Draco grunted softly in response, then took a quick look around the Great Hall. The crowds had thinned somewhat, but there were too many people around for his comfort. He'd have to wait a bit longer to do what he planned to do or risk being seen. Which meant suffering the IQ-Twins for a little while longer.

He turned back to find Crabbe staring at him with a look of dawning enlightenment on his face.

"That thing you said.."

"I say many things, Crabbe, you can't expect me to remember them all."

"You know, what you said about Goyle not saying much."

"I vaguely recall something of that nature. What of it?"

Crabbe smiled, pleased with himself. "That was sarcasm!"

"Gosh, do you think so?"

"Yeah," interrupted Goyle, "it was. I heard that too."

"Well I never, it's only taken you seven years to recognise sarcasm. You have my heartiest congratulations."

Draco had doubted it was possible for his semi-human toad-like 'friends' to blush, but for once he was proved wrong. He hoped never to see it again.

"Ta, Draco," mumbled Goyle, quite overcome.

"Here!" said Crabbe, getting excited now. "Say something else sarcastic. You're good at that"

"What, me? I'm never sarcastic. Perish the thought."

"Yes, you are," said Goyle earnestly. "Everyone says so."

"Oh, surely not. How can I possibly be sarcastic now? You'd catch me out."

Crabbe beamed, "we probably could an' all. Go on then, try it…"

"Oh, no. I'm far too self-conscious. I couldn't even drum up enough wit to be sardonic now…"

And on and on and on…

For several minutes.

Finally (and not a moment too soon for Draco), the Great Hall began to empty. The Gryffindors had finally stopped stuffing their faces and taken themselves away, the Ravenclaws were long gone, and of the Hufflepuffs, there remained a group of five talking desultorily who were only there because they were far too polite to excuse themselves in the middle of a conversation.

_Time to make my move, I believe_

Crabbe and Goyle had been asking him something-or-other, he really didn't care what. He stood, ignoring the on-going debate and said,

"Well, my lads, you've entertained me long enough. Much as I hate to tear myself away from your delightful company, I have things to do. I'll be in the library if you care to join me."

He strode away without a backward glance, knowing full well that the library was the one destination that Crabbe and Goyle had no desire to visit. He doubted they even knew where it was. So it was no surprise to him when shortly afterwards, he found himself alone and unfollowed.

He walked down a gloomy, rarely-used corridor and entered a room. It was a girl's toilet. It had a ghost inside it.

And someone else…

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The evenings were still chilly, despite the encroachment of spring, and Draco found himself burrowing deeper into the thick wool of his Death Eater robes. He'd been standing still for far too long, but there really wasn't a lot of choice in the matter when Voldemort was holding court. Nobody sat in the Dark Lord's presence. 

Well…not unless they'd had their legs chopped off at the knees by a severing curse, and even then, they'd still be trying _really_ hard to stand.

The voices droned on. Draco had been correct in his assumption that Snape had been held up by 'business', but as far as he had been able to learn nothing particularly important had been decided. He had realised that Death Eater meetings took rather a long time since fawning and posturing were statutory requirements but he could be patient in this case; he had some rather important information to impart and could bide his time until his moment came.

Lucius, who also knew of this, could not conceal his impatience so successfully and in his haste to drag the conversation around to Hogwarts, came within a hairs-breadth of the Cruciatus Curse by interrupting the Dark Lord in mid-rant. Observing this, Draco winced, but came willingly enough when he was called to Voldemort's throne.

Voldemort, who had been eyeing a nervous Lucius with venom, turned his acid gaze toward his youngest recruit.

"Malfoy tells me that you have learned something important today."

Draco bowed deeply and responded with as much confidence as he could muster.

"Yes, Lord. I have discovered a…vulnerability in the wards protecting Hogwarts."

There were gasps and excited exclamations from the assembled group.

It seemed that he had even succeeded in surprising Voldemort, who sucked in a breath and sat more upright in the stone chair.

"Impossible," he hissed, "Dumbledore himself set those wards. I have tested them and they are impenetrable."

"They _are _impenetrable…usually."

Voldemort stood, agitated, but a gleam of growing excitement in his eyes.

_Hooked him_

"Explain yourself, boy!"

There wasn't really much option, what with the Dark Lord's wand being waved in your face…

"The wards are set to as particular magical resonance. Over time, the resonance becomes weak and in order for the protection to be maintained, the resonance has to be adjusted. It's all done automatically - a very complex spell, I believe, but when the resonance _does_ change…"

"The wards are vulnerable," Voldemort finished, exultantly.

"Yes, but only for a very brief time," Draco added hurriedly.

Voldemort hissed again, moved swiftly in a sinuous circle and glared dangerously at one of the hooded figures crowding around them.

"Snape! Why have you not told me this?" The tone of voice told everyone that Snape had better be very, very careful in his response.

Snape barely appeared to notice. He had been staring at Draco with something akin to horror. He turned a glazed look to Voldemort, apparently speechless. Draco had never seen the self-possessed man so pole-axed by shock before.

"I…I didn't know about it," he responded eventually. "Dumbledore never told me." His tone was almost plaintive.

Voldemort stalked closer, a threat evident in every step.

"Your currency as a spy is becoming dangerously devalued, Snape," he sneered. "Perhaps that senile old fool Dumbledore doesn't trust you either. This BOY has brought me more useful information in one day than you have brought me in a year."

Unsure whether he could be held responsible for the Potion Master's probable imminent death and unwilling to take the risk, Draco hastily intervened.

"My Lord?"

Voldemort span again, his robes billowing menacingly.

"The wards…"

"Well? What of them?"

Draco licked his suddenly dry lips and spoke the words that would irrevocably expose Hogwarts to attack,

"The resonance is due to change very soon. Tonight in fact. At Midnight."

Snape forgotten, the Dark Lord's eyes gleamed with savage triumph.

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Draco could feel the tension drumming through his skull, drowning out thought. He felt sick to his stomach and his hands trembled with the long drawn out and terrible anticipation.

_Please let this work, please let this work, please let this work_

Snape, who was standing next to him, was scarcely in a better state. Draco couldn't blame him. Voldemort, despite his exultation at Draco's information, was not one to believe or trust anything easily and had decided to test the wards at the appointed time by sending Avery, McNair and a small group of underlings to make a foray into Hogwarts' grounds and report back. They had also been granted the freedom to create mayhem, should the opportunity arise, hence the worry radiating from the greasy-haired Professor. It was now only 10 minutes before midnight and the waiting was becoming unbearable.

Draco could almost feel pity at the quandary faced by Snape. He could say nothing to the youngest Death Eater who had apparently managed to gain Voldemort's favour but he also couldn't leave to warn Dumbledore in case of arousing suspicion. Draco was frankly surprised that his Professor hadn't tried to murder him where he stood.

_You poor sod_

Glancing around, he noticed that Lucius and Voldemort, who had been conferring, had drawn somewhat apart and there was also no sign of any of the other waiting Death Eaters who had been gathered together minutes before.

_Oh, shit_

Almost panicked, he wracked his brains to think of a way of persuading Snape that they had to find the others without giving away the absolute and imperative importance of them staying within sight at the moment. It was literally life and death, but Snape could not possibly know that.

There came a soft hurried whisper from the man beside him, which Draco didn't catch, and he turned his head instinctively. Except…

__

… the more he thought about finding some excuse for moving, the more his body refused to budge. A curious lassitude had spread over him - a feeling of ease, of contentment. A small voice was telling him that everything was perfectly all right, there was nothing wrong, nothing to worry about…

It hit him then, and the shot of adrenaline was like a punch to the stomach, hard enough to dissipate the strange sensations momentarily.

_That Bastard! He's using the _Imperious_ curse on me!_

Sucking in breath, managing the wherewithal to wrench his head around, Draco looked straight in the eye of the Potions Master.

Who was gazing back with a smirk of triumph.

Then the lassitude was back, the heaviness in his limbs, the almost-happy feeling. Snape glared darkly at him, muttered, "Stay there" and abruptly turned, melting into the gloom of the Forbidden Forest and heading in the direction of Hogwarts.

_damn it damn it damn it damn it…_

Draco began to realise that he had dramatically underestimated the man. He had assumed that Snape would do nothing in order to protect his position in Voldemort's inner circle, but evidently, fear for the safety of Hogwarts had over-ridden his instinct for self-preservation. At another time, Draco could have found it in himself to admire the man's actions, even understand them, but just at the moment, he was concerned only with shaking free of this damned curse and tracking him down like a wild dog.

Easier said than done. Never having been under the Imperious Curse before he had failed to appreciate how very compelling the spell was, how very difficult to break free of. He strained with every physical and mental muscle to move even a fraction when every instinct he possessed was screaming at him to 'Stay', just as he had been commanded. The more he fought, the harder the imperative to obey overcame him.

And all the while was an insistent, urgent need to stop Severus Snape at whatever cost.

His frustration mounting, a sudden memory came to him of being told something very interesting several years ago. Something about the Imperious Curse and the Boy-Who-Lived? What was it…?

_Potter! Potter resisted the curse…_

Whether it was his innate competitiveness, or something else entirely which turned the tide, nobody would ever know for sure and moments later, with a strange almost ecstatic pain, he found himself lurching after Snape, dizzied and desperate, but free.

His strength returned quickly, the adrenaline started to flow and he ran faster and faster. Crashing through the forest, sliding and stumbling with every step, but somehow staying upright. He urged himself faster, his robes tearing as they caught at the twigs and tendrils of the trees. He had no way of knowing how deep into the woods the apparation wards extended. Snape could have apparated as far as the 'border' and may already be on his way to Dumbledore's office.

Moments later, stumbling forward with even less stealth than an injured Hippogriff and not really caring, he suddenly and unexpectedly crashed into the back of Severus Snape. With startled yelps, they both fell in a tangle of robes and limbs.

_How can he not have heard me coming?_

No time to ponder this question. Snape was growling and kicking himself free and Draco found himself clutching at his Professor's robes with desperate fervour.

"Stop!" he found himself yelling. "Don't do it! You don't understand!"

Equally hoarsely came the reply.

"Get off me boy! You have no idea what you're doing! GET OFF!"

"NO!"

_I'm trying to save your life you stupid, stubborn fool!_

Sobbing with panic, half-crawling after the struggling man, Draco nonetheless felt a kind of lucid clarity come over him. It was like the clarity he had felt just after he'd witnessed his mother's execution.

Abruptly, he released Snape and with deliberation, drew his wand. Without giving himself a moment to think, but knowing deep inside that he was doing the right thing, he calmly pointed it at the retreating man's back.

"_STUPIFY_!"

To be continued….

Phew!

Confused much?

I promise that everything will be explained in the last installment. If anyone's guessed what's going on, good on ya, if you haven't, then you'll just have to wait…

Sorry about the length, but I'd kind of tied myself to doing 5 parts, and I had quite a lot to fit in this one! I meant to get it posted last night, but I was starting to hallucinate through lack of sleep, so I finished it off at work! (Still, if I'm unemployed next week, at least I'll have more time to write is what I figure)

Coming soon (maybe even later tonight?): Step 5: Trust no one


	5. Step 5: Trust no one

How to be a Death Eater in 5 easy stages

I don't own any of the characters (except Grubious Dross), 'cos they all belong to Joanna. I was thinking of offering to buy them off her, though - do you think she'll accept a postal order?

Thanks to:

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Digital Darknezz: Thanks, that was my favourite bit too! Hope you won't be put off by the lack of laughs in the last part…

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Forgotten-dreams: Yeah, I guess so, sorry 'bout that, but I conceived it as a series of 'scenes' which would be tied together at the end - hopefully all will become clear…

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Kenna Hijja: Sorry about the bun - hope you didn't splutter on the screen! I 'spose I was aiming for very, very dark humour, so hope I succeeded. BTW, you're on the right tracks, but you may not know everything yet…

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Angelika: Hmm, you're right, I did intend it to be a funny piece, but it kinda got darker on me as I went along (difficult to avoid with Draco!) As for his revenge, as you suggest, I think he probably sees his mother's death as justification for what he's doing - and whether that's good or evil you should find out if you read on…

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Slytherin-angel: Happy to oblige! - here it is…

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Lee: Thanks - I had fun writing the Wizard quotes - hope you like the last one. I'm not going to give anymore details, you can fill in the blanks in whatever way takes your fancy! I might write a vignette about Narcissa yet, but maybe not - suffice to say that she didn't know she was a Mudblood until quite recently, otherwise she'd have never been able to convince Lucius. I hope I manage to explain it a bit more in this instalment…

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Foz: Here it is then…

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A/N: Last part! I can't believe how fast I wrote this, but when you've got a story on the brain, you've gotta get it out, or you won't get anything done.

There's a lot of talking in this part, but it's necessary to tie in all the threads. I did intend to write a fairly short comical piece when I began but I always get this mad urge to complicate the plot and it turned into a bit of a counter-espionage saga.

I'm afraid I've kind of lost the funny a bit in this part too - couldn't quite bring myself to mock when things have gotten so dark. You'll have to be content with a bit of sardonic irony instead.

Oh, and contrary to what I've said before, I've suddenly become addicted to reviews.

SO REVIEW!!! (Please?)

Step 5: Trust no one

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When Salazaar Slytherin abandoned the school he had helped to found, he thought to pursue his ideals elsewhere and in an atmosphere more sympathetic to his beliefs. There are those who would argue that there was, at heart, an integrity and nobility in this action and they may not be entirely wrong; he abandoned Hogwarts, but the school did not forget him, and he left behind a powerful legacy. The house that bears his name still thrives, and thrives despite mistrust and the actions of a few of its graduates. Why? Consider this: without fear, you cannot know bravery. Without suspicion, you cannot know trust. Without misdirection, you cannot know truth. It is only when you know both sides that you can truly make a choice.

From: _Hogwarts: A History_

Once to every man and nation comes the moment to decide

In the strife of Truth with Falsehood, for the good or evil side

James Russell Lowell

Muggle Poet.

Five Death Eaters returned. There was a wildness about their eyes, a kind of muted shock intermixed with suspicion and they were quiet - too quiet for men who had apparently struck a blow against Dumbledore's fortress.

As they approached their waiting comrades, the reason became clear. They were bruised, they were battered, they were definitely bowed, and in their midst floated the bloodied corpse of Grubious Dross.

They stood a little apart, a tableau of silhouettes against the torchlight, seemingly unmoved by the gasps of shock and the hissing, slow-boiling rage of Voldemort.

Draco, watching quietly from beside the unconscious body of Snape, merely revelled in a sensation of relief so great that his knees trembled. When he had command of himself, he knelt quickly and as stealthily as possible, passed his wand over Snape's head whispering,

"_Enervate!_"

As Snape stirred, the frozen tableau around them shattered and excited voices and demands for explanations broke out, fighting to be heard in the sudden, shocking noise. Careful to place his body between Snape and everyone else, he bowed lower and placed his mouth against the Professor's ear.

"You've been asleep for an hour and I've been sitting next to you the whole time. We never even left the clearing."

Snape, who had stiffened at the sound of his voice, turned his head and gazed up at Draco. The dark eyes were shadowed, enigmatic, catching transient flashes of red from the flickering torches. Draco couldn't read their expression, were they puzzled? Accusing? Did he even want to know? He had to be content that Snape merely blinked and said nothing. It was enough for now.

Standing quickly, Draco strode over to join the excited group. He manoeuvred himself to the front, vaguely surprised that the others moved aside to accommodate him as thought silently acknowledging his right to be there. He wasn't sure what he felt about that.

"…the boy was right about the wards." That was Goyle Senior, his voice sounding hoarse as though he had been shouting.

Draco was aware of eyes flicking to his face, but he ignored them, concentrating on the words. It was Avery who spoke next.

"…we got through all right, but then…" he paused, anger darkening his face, "We were ambushed!"

"What!?"

That was Lucius, outraged, shocked, but his eyes glanced to his son's face and back again.

Avery was almost shouting, his rage evident, "That accursed BOY. He was there - I don't know how but…there were others with him - Dumbledore too. Before we knew it, there were hexes flying all over the place. It was a bloody MASSACRE. Grubious got caught in the cross-fire."

There was muttering, suspicion…

Draco spoke quickly, "_Potter!_", he hissed, ignoring the reflexive gasps of shock, "_Potter._ Damn him. DAMN HIM. How did he know?". He hoped he sounded convincing..

"That…" came another voice, one that cut through the murmurings like a dagger through flesh, "…_that_ is what I would like to know. He must have been warned." Voldemort at his coldest and most frightening.

Silence.

__

This was the danger point. It always had been. Draco had known it would be, he could only hope he had played his part well enough. If not… He tried not to shudder, his nerves stretched tightly like fine wire.

Shock and realisation on the faces around him, dark suspicion dawning in their eyes. Those eyes, all of them, calculating, dangerous, moving from face to face. Together, seemingly in concert, they moved to Draco's face…rested there for an indifferent moment…then focused accusingly on something behind him.

Slowly, painfully, hardly daring to breathe, Draco turned…and stared at the silent, solitary figure of Severus Snape.

"Snape?" The Dark Lord's voice was soft, but there was a threat behind the steady tone that struck terror in every heart. The Death Eaters unconsciously drew back.

The Hogwart's Professor, however, was unperturbed. He glanced at Draco briefly, then strode forward, unhurried, confident, the suspicious men around him scattering like startled birds. He looked Voldemort straight in the eye.

"I did not do this thing. I have always served you faithfully. Besides…" a perfect touch of embarrassment in his voice, "I was…asleep."

The mutterings paused, a considering silence followed.

Then Lucius, of all people, spoke up, "That is actually true," he said, sounding almost disappointed, "I saw him myself. Draco was with him."

Draco nodded vigorously, trying not to seem too eager.

"He wouldn't have had time," finished Lucius with difficulty, as though he had razor wire in his throat.

_Time to deliver the coup-de-grâce_

Before anyone had time to recover from this new development, Draco gasped, loudly and theatrically, drawing everyone's attention.

"It was a set up!" he cried in tones of amazed outrage. "It must have been! How else could they have known?"

The murmerings started again, this time somewhat confused and uncertain. Draco worried briefly that he was moving too quickly for them, and fumbled for his next words. Luckily, Snape had been paying attention.

"Explain yourself, boy!", he barked in his best classroom-voice.

Draco, very nearly starting to enjoy himself now that the most pressing danger had passed, began to wring his hands and pace in a tight circle.

"I _should_ have known", he said, as though to himself. "I'm such a _fool_. I should have been suspicious…I mean, how _could_ I have found out about the wards so easily, when even SNAPE didn't know?" He flung an arm dramatically towards the unruffled Potions Master. "Idiot, IDOIT", he added for good measure and had to resist the temptation to strike his brow.

He risked a glance towards Voldemort, who was looking slightly less dangerous, but slightly suspicious nonetheless.

"Calm yourself, boy," he said, "do you believe you were duped?"

"I _must_ have been," Draco replied miserably, "but I don't understand…I mean, how could anyone have known? I haven't told anyone I'd joined you. I've kept the Dark Mark hidden. I…I haven't even told my friends…" he trailed off, as though horror struck.

"_My friends…_" he stage-whispered, just in case anybody hadn't caught up yet.

Then, knowing he had his audience riveted to his every action, he turned his head sharply, unerringly found his target, and glared accusingly into the eyes of Goyle Senior. 

Voldemort hissed. His eyes gleamed with a kind of savage pleasure.

"Goyle?"

"I…I…I…"

The Death Eaters scattered as Voldemort advanced on the cowering man.

_…and Malfoy catches the snitch. The crowd goes wild…_

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They walked back towards Hogwarts in silence, their pace leisurely, and they almost, perhaps, presented the picture of two men enjoying a companionable dawn stroll. Draco, however, could feel the intense frustration and curiosity radiating from Snape in waves. He knew the questions would come, and come soon, it was just a matter of time.

In the event, Snape managed to rein himself in until they had reached the faint, chill shadow of the stone staircase that led to the massive wooden doors of Hogwarts Castle. He stopped, staring resolutely forward, his face faintly illuminated by the rising sun. Draco waited patiently.

"What are you doing?"

The question, when it came, was more direct than Draco had expected, but also more circumspect. He could interpret it in any way he pleased, it seemed. But Draco didn't want to play that game right now – instead he threw the question back at Snape,

"I could ask the same of you…"

Snape turned then, his dark eyes considering. "You know," he stated. "You know about…me, I mean. Where my loyalties lie."

Again, the caution, the faint tinge of distrust 

"I do," stated Draco baldly. He expected the Professor to fence back, lightly, probingly, so was taken completely unawares by the directness of his next question.

"And where do _your_ loyalties lie, Malfoy?"

How to answer that question? He couldn't of course. He stayed silent, unmoving.

Snape seemed unsurprised, he probably even understood. When men carry great secrets with them, the habit of silence becomes deeply ingrained.

Yet…understanding there may have been, but it did not stop Snape from trying again,

"Are you working alone?"

More silence. Perhaps Snape intended this as a test, Draco didn't know and didn't ask.

And yet again…

"Does Dumbledore know?"

This one he could answer with no danger. He almost felt as though he owed Snape at least part of the truth, in any case. Not that the answer would be very informative…

"No."

"Why not?"

Draco almost, _almost_ smiled. He had to give Snape credit for sheer dogged persistence, if nothing else. Instead, he hid his expression and remained mute.

Snape sighed, ran a hand over his head and looked down at his feet.

"You are determined to be mysterious, in fact," he stated, the acid, sardonic tone that his students expected from him back in his voice. Draco for one was glad to hear it. The Professor was not finished with him yet, though. He looked Draco in the eye and with a seriousness quite unlike his usual tones, and with something akin to hesitation, said,

"Perhaps you can answer _this_ question then? – although you are under no obligation to do so…" he trailed off, completing the enquiry with raised eyebrows.

What now? Draco merely shrugged, "If I can".

Snape nodded, as though this was enough and began with difficulty and averted eyes, "Did Narcissa know?"

It _did_ catch him by surprise after all. He couldn't prevent a wince and felt the burning stare of Snape sweep over him and away again. Despite this, it's possible that he surprised Snape in his turn by his candid reply.

"Of course she didn't! Do you think she'd have been stupid enough to marry Lucius if she had?"

Snape closed his eyes briefly at the bitterness of the question, not oblivious to Draco's use of his father's name. He sighed and suddenly looked unutterably weary.

"No, I suppose not. But I still don't understand…what happened?"

Draco turned abruptly away, unable to face those penetrating eyes. His back to Hogwarts' doors, his face towards the Forbidden Forest, he walked a few paces forward and emotions unbidden and unwanted writhed under his skin like snakes. He paused a minute longer, then started to speak, his own weariness evident,

"My…Grandfather…I mean, my mother's father… " he began, then paused as if suddenly realising what he had said. He glanced back at Snape and shrugged ruefully, "… actually I don't know what to call him now…he…"

Snape's brows had drawn together - concern and a dawning realisation in his face.

"It doesn't matter, just tell me."

Turning back, Draco continued, "He was obsessed with his blood-line, obsessed with the purity of it, I mean. More so than Lucius in some ways. He…well, I can only guess this, but he must have married my Grandmother for the same reason. The begetting of heirs. The continuation of the _Pure Blood_." He spat the last words out as though they choked him.

"What happened was ironic, of course, if he'd known the shock probably would have killed him. There _he_ was, always off 'conducting business', making contacts, flaunting his success to the _right_ people. There _she _was - young, bored, left to while away her time in that mouldering manor in Norfolk. She tried to make friends, of course, she met a nice young Muggle…well, you can guess the rest."

"Yes."

"We wouldn't have known, of course, except…"

Snape actually winced at that, "Oh, please don't tell me she…?"

Draco turned then, smiling humourlessly at the sheer stupidity of it all, "Of course she did. She left a bloody journal. It was in the attic for years until Mother found it last October. I think…I think she must have told Lucius herself…". He stopped. He couldn't think about that part, imagining her face…

"Are _you _in danger?"

Draco shrugged. Strangely enough it was something that had never bothered him.

"Lucius managed to keep the truth from Voldemort, he thinks he's kept it from me…I don't know, it may be that he's more pragmatic than I gave him credit for. And of course, he trusts me."

Snape snorted, the sound incongruous in the quiet courtyard.

"Foolish man," he muttered, half to himself. A pause, "Of course you hate him."

It was a half-question, the eyes curious again, searching for answers.

Draco smiled, "My dear Professor, there are very few people in this world that I _don't_ hate. Lucius just happens to top the list."

He was tired. He still had a lot to do, and this conversation was wearing on him. He walked passed Snape, not even glancing in his direction, and started up the steps.

"Malfoy."

He paused.

"I'll let you play your game. I won't tell Dumbledore."

It was what he had hoped for and the response was heartfelt and sincere.

"Thank you."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

An hour before breakfast, in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, a no less serious, but far more interesting conversation was taking place.

Two boys faced each other across the drab and dirty room. One pale, one dark. Mirror opposites, like pieces from a game of chess. Not pawns, but not Kings - at least, not yet. Something in between…

"You took quite a risk."

"So did you. You couldn't know how many men Voldemort would send, or even if he would send any."

"I…did know." There was something of constraint in the tone.

"How?"

"I'd tell you…but then I'd have to kill you."

The pale boy grinned. His eyes may have flicked to something half-concealed under the messy hair of his companion, but he didn't pursue the matter.

"Dumbledore didn't suspect anything?"

"Why would he? He trusts me implicitly," and there was definitely something of an ironic shade to the words.

"I still don't quite understand why you won't let him in on this."

There was silence for a moment. The dark haired boy, taller than his companion, but less graceful in his movements, ran his fingers through his hair and paced, frowning,

"He's…Dumbledore has been at this a long time. He has plans for me. He has plans for _all_ of us. Perhaps…perhaps I want to make my own plans." He stopped, looked up, "it's _my_ fight. It's always been my fight. I just…choose to take control of what happens. I choose my own allies. Besides…" a small self-deprecating smile, "…I'm more ruthless than Dumbledore is."

The listener snorted softly in amusement,

"I don't think I've ever met anyone who was _less_ ruthless than you are, Potter…"

"Malfoy…"

"…except for me."

"I don't doubt it for a second."

There was silence again. It was strangely…comfortable.

"Have you learned anything useful?"

Draco considered for a moment. He thought about the past few days and about the men he had encountered.

"Have you ever heard the phrase, 'the banality of evil'?"

"I…yes. I think it was used by a Muggle. Something about war crimes and Nazis."

Draco didn't know what Nazis were, but he'd heard the phrase once and it had stuck in his head. He hadn't known what it meant until now.

"It perfectly describes them, Potter. The Death Eaters, I mean. They wear a scary mask, but underneath they're as foolish and as ordinary as anyone else."

Potter gazed at him, frowning, then his face slowly cleared.

"That…helps"

"I thought it would."

"I'll sure you have some stories to tell…?"

Draco opened his mouth, thought about the initiation, the Baby Powder, the sneering, and closed it again.

"I'd tell you…but then I'd have to kill you."

He encountered a glare from the green eyes, but he'd endured far worse and only widened his own grey eyes innocently.

Potter wisely let it drop.

"Any damage?"

"Dross is dead. As far as I can make out, he got caught between a vomiting hex and a choking curse and…well you can guess."

"Yuck."

"Quite. Goyle is…incapacitated, but I'll save _that_ story for a rainy day. You might need cheering up at some point."

"What about Snape?"

"He's alive."

"Well, that's…something. I wonder for how much longer, though"

Draco nodded seriously in response. "Voldemort was right about one thing, his currency as a spy is seriously devalued. He's not really trusted by the Inner Circle so I doubt that Dumbledore will get much use out of him anymore."

"That's why I have you."

"Stop smirking, Potter, you're not the one with the Dark Mark on your arm."

"Sorry, O great and terrifying Death Eater."

"You are really full of yourself, aren't you? I still don't know why you had to make it so _complicated_. I mean, the fake wards, the little ambush…What did you gain, exactly, from last night's little escapade?"

"Three things. Firstly, and most importantly, you gained the trust of Voldemort - not easy to do, but I knew if anyone could do it, you could,"

"Thanks…I think."

"You're welcome. Secondly, Voldemort is now more wary of attacking Hogwarts than ever. Thirdly, if I'm not mistaken, it managed to throw a little dissension into the ranks of the Death Eaters."

"You're not mistaken."

"Good"

"I think…"

"Yes?"

"I think, Harry my boy, that we might just make a Slytherin of you yet."

Anyone chancing to look into Moaning Myrtle's bathroom at that moment, may have been surprised to see an ironically raised eyebrow on the face of the Boy-Who-Lived.

If they had stayed a little longer, they may have seen a pale-haired boy exit the bathroom with a jaunt in his step and a smirk on his face.

THE END

(or is it the beginning…?)

A/N Well, I made it. Hope you enjoyed. I'm not seriously thinking about writing a sequel, though, as I have another story brewing in my head at the moment. Oh, and PLEASE REVIEW!!! I've not been writing all that long, and I could do with the encouragement...


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